The Other Shoe
by MagusUmbra
Summary: Snape has long despised Neville Longbottom and Neville has long been a clumsy apathetic idiot. Or so the other thought, but could their whole relationship be a big misunderstanding? Unfinished and may remain that way. Does not comply with canon
1. Where's Neville

Disclaimer: The only Harry Potter things I own are some books, a little Snape action figure and a glitter mixing kit (which I only bought because it said it was a Potion Kit, which it's not!) so I hold none of the rights and I am entitled to none of the money. In fact I am making no money at all from this or anything right now 'cause I'm a poor stupid student who quit her job! So there!  
  
Warning: I'm not really sure how this is going to turn out as far as the rating goes. But it may eventually become slash. However, right now it is not.  
  
A/N: This is my first fic ever so here goes. Also, if you read this and you think it's okay please review and tell me so, in fact if you read it and you think my writing style sucks, my grammar sucks, my plot was boring and sucked then please review and tell me so (but please specify what sucked and why). If this fic bores you try again later after I've posted more. Trust me it will get much more interesting. :-)  
  
A/N2: /Denotes thought/  
  
Rating: PG   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The Other Shoe  
  
"Where's Neville?" Harry asked nonchalantly as he sat next to Ron and across from Hermione and immediately began filling his plate with dinner.   
"In the same place he's been during every dinner for the past week, I suppose.", Hermione intoned. Harry stopped piling food on his plate as he realized rather ashamedly that this was the first night he'd noticed the quiet but clumsy boys absence from his usual spot next to Hermione.  
"Er, and where is that?"  
"In the library."  
"Mmm, thaz righ", Ron said, quickly swallowing his food at Hermione's meaningful glare. "Ever since that motivational speaker came and talked about 'fulfilling your goals, realizing your potential, and conquering your fears' he's been spending nearly all his free time in the library or surrounded by books." Ron took another bite of food. " Or playing with Trevor III, of course. He's usually already eaten and out of here by the time your in from afternoon Quidditch practice. Which reminds me, how was practice?"  
"Oh, great, we're really doing well. We'll have no problem with Ravenclaw next week."  
"Well," Hermione chimed, turning to Ron, "I for one am quite pleased to see that you paid attention to Mr. Frakes' message Ron. I think it's great that Headmaster Dumbledore invited him to speak with us. I hope it continues as a tradition here at Hogwarts."  
"Oh boy, another tradition." Ron sarcastically droned. Harry sat back listening to his two best friends bickering and began to stuff his mouth with savory goodies, all thoughts of Neville out of mind.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Meanwhile, in a deserted but well lit corner of the library, amongst an overstuffed armchair and stacks of dust-filled books towering up off an oak table and a big soft rug, arose a quiet sneeze. Then the not so quiet noise of a rather large stack of books toppling onto the rather small figure curled up in the chair.  
"Oops." Neville pushed the books from his chest and arms then stacked them with the ones on his lap and placed them in a new pile on the table in front of him. With a slight groan he pushed himself out of his chair and began to stretch his back and legs while trying to rub the kink from between his shoulderblades. Five months past Neville had reached his sixteenth birthday and since had shed the majority of any 'baby fat' he had once had, though it seemed he would always retain a look of soft boyishness. A large yawn racked Neville's body and when it had released him he found himself starring at a rather irritated looking Madam Pince.  
"I'm closing up for the evening, Longbottom. Grab what you want to take with you and I'll check it out for you at the counter." Neville quickly picked up three books that he had sat underneath the chair and stood back while Madam Pince magicked the rest into their proper spots then followed her to the front desk.  
After checking out the two Potions books and 'How to Overcome Your Worst Fears', Neville slipped out of the library and headed toward the stairs that would bring him to the Fat Lady and the Gryffindor common room.  
It was the third to the last step that always did it and you'd think he would have known it by now. Of course having his shoe laces untied didn't help Neville in the matter. Neville Longbottom had fallen down many staircases in his life but this was the only one that he repeatedly fell up. He tripped, stumbling forward, his knees slamming into the marble landing and his books flying out before him. After a moment on his hands and knees catching his breath he reached forward to pick his books up but instead came into contact with expensive Italian leather.  
"Well, well, if it isn't clumsy little Fatbottom." Neville tried to look up into the blonde snobbish boy's face but found his eyes glued to the designer shoes.  
"What? Have an ickle fall on your fat arse again?" Neville realized that Malfoy was alone and this might be his only chance to stand up to the boy. He grabbed the nearest book and lifted it as if to swing but was cut short in his actions by a mocking chuckle which made his eyes sting and his lip want to tremble. Instead he squeezed his eyes shut and didn't open them till he heard the boys footsteps fade, his distress so much that he never wondered what Draco was doing in the Gryffindor tower. Neville opened his eyes and glanced down at the book in his hands. 'How to Overcome Your Worst Fears' by Stan Dingtall.  
"Right, what a joke", Neville laughed derisively as he, overwhelmed with self loathing, tossed the book down the staircase. He sat there sulking for a moment then scampered after the book, frightened by the notion of what Madam Pince would do to him if she found out how he'd been treating her beloved books. Unfortunately it was not Neville's night and the book had fallen into the shadows under the stair well near a very dark hallway. He stood just before the shadowy area, his hand gripping the side of the banister, gathering his courage.  
"Neville your such a stupid baby. There is nothing in the dark that isn't there in the light", he told himself, completely ignoring the fact that this often was not the case at Hogwarts. He let his hand slide down to his side where he wiped his palms on his robes. Kneeling forward carefully, he crept across the floor on hands and knees patting about for the book. When his fingertips stumbled across the object of his search he latched onto the book with all his might and thundered up the stairs as fast as he could, once more tripping up the third step down from the landing which was fine with him as it allowed him a chance to gather up the other two texts and scurry to the Fat Lady who let him through after only three tries.  
Snape stepped out of the shadows lining the hall. He had just come from a meeting with Minerva about purchasing new Quidditch balls when he heard what sounded like someone falling down the stairs. Curiosity had kept him from intervening when he saw young Malfoy near Gryffindor quarters exchanging words with that Longbottom boy. His brow his creased with thought as he walked on heading toward the dungeons. /Why/, he wondered /was Mr. Malfoy on the stairs leading to Gryffindor tower? And why did Longbottom just sit there taking it while Draco practically spit in his face? Most curious indeed./ 


	2. Dream a Little Dream

Disclaimer: Once again, I own nothing Harry Potter except what I've bought at bookstores and Toy shops and I don't think that counts. I make no money whatsoever from this or anything else but if you know how I can please feel free to tell me in the review or e-mail me;).  
  
Warnings and Watches: Nothing much, a little weird and gruesome maybe because I was listening to Ozzy . Maybe a slash Watch because there may be some in later chapters, but I'll change the rating if necessary.   
  
A/N: Like I said I was listening to Ozzy Osbourne when I wrote this so it's kinda strange and gruesome. I almost didn't post it but here it is. I'll try to post again tonight. I upped the rating for the gruesomeness (is that a word?) Feel free to review.  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
The Other Shoe  
  
Chapter 2: Dream a little dream  
  
  
Draco looked down at the figure sprawled on hands and knees on the marble landing and had a sudden sense of deja vu. Longbottom, of course. It had to be; who else could manage to trip UP a flight of stairs. He spit some insults at the boy, but when the figure on the floor looked up, it wasn't Neville. It was Harry Potter.  
"Potter?" Fierce green eyes locked onto his pale gray ones and held them entranced with the pain and hatred reflected in them.  
"Why? Why do you this to me? Why do you always hurt me? You don't deserve to look at me let alone speak to me."  
" I... I do what I have to. I didn't know. I...I...I don't hate you. I don't want to hurt you...", Draco felt himself stumbling back into a wall as Harry advanced on him, the largest book in hand and began swinging it at him. There was nothing Draco could do as he realized he was in fact entirely nude and with no defenses.  
" I know. I know all your dirty little secrets Malfoy, all your dirty little sins." Draco looked up to try to explain but the boy hitting him repeatedly in the shoulders, arms and back while he curled up on himself in the corner ducking his head was none other than Neville Longbottom. Then everything went black once more.  
Down in the dungeons, in the sixth year boy's dormitory, on a green and silver blanketed bed a lithe, graceful, and very rich blonde rolled over onto his side, tucking his knees up against his chest and plopped a well manicured thumb into his mouth.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Snape was sitting at the desk in his living quarters grading his students' papers and something was bothering him but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. Maybe it was the fact that no matter how hard he searched the papers he was grading he could find no errors, not one mistake; every paper had a shining green A marked at the top. Or, maybe, he realized, it was that at the top of every single paper that he had graded was scribbled the name Neville Longbottom. But no, although these things were all very annoying he had finally realized what was bothering him so. It was that noise. That nerve grating tapping. He had to find what was making that horrible noise and stop it. He barged through the door that led to his office but could find nothing there that could be causing the tapping that was gradually growing louder. And suddenly he knew where it had to be coming from. Snape barged through the door in the far corner of the room that led into the closet he kept his non-school-related potions ingredients, entered a door that was revealed when he shifted a bottle labeled human tongues and the shelf swung forward. He descended a steep and spiraling flight of steps into a room that was unfortunately not barren but still was filled with instruments unused for many years. It was a remarkably rectangular room and several meters to his left sitting several feet off of one the short walls appeared to be an altar of some sort, behind which lay a long thick red carpet. He ran over and began rolling the end of the carpet up revealing discoloration of the stone indicative of the carpet not having been moved in hundreds of years. Although he wasn't sure what he was looking for he knew it for what it was when he saw it: a trap door. It took all of his strength to pull it open and to say that the air that wafted out stank would be an understatement. He gulped for air and descended the stone ladder into the pitch blackness. When he could step down no farther and his head was beginning to throb in beat to the tapping he turned and nearly ran into a smooth curving wall. He felt along its side and nearly fell when his foot fell through the floor and landed on the first step. He latched onto the wall and followed the stairs down for what seemed an eternity to him. It was so gradual when it came that he didn't know it was there until he was standing in the green glowing light. He stepped out of the stairwell and immediately fell a meter onto his face. But when he stood he found the source of the tapping. A boot, standard school issue, was slowly, methodically, yet quite unintentionally tapping the stone wall as the body swung back and forth on the rope tied to the rusted metal rung in the ceiling. It was then that Snape noticed that this was not the only corpse but about a half dozen littered the room in various positions of torture. He approached the swinging body and held the boot from tapping the wall and as he did so the corpse swung around and a large heavy rock imbedded itself in the pit of Snapes stomach.  
"Longbottom? Neville? Oh... why, Longbottom, why?"  
"Because," Snape nearly pissed his pants as Neville's head snapped up a curious and gullible look on his face. " you said yesterday that I might as well go off and kill myself for all the good I do the Wizarding world. I thought you wanted this. I'm sorry, I just wanted for once to make you happy. I... I can't take it back. I can't take it back!" Snape turned to run but felt feet wrap around the front of his neck and before he could duck out of them his neck was wrapped in two legs and he was being pulled back and up until his feet were no longer touching the ground and his neck was constricted between two locked thighs and a pissy crotch. He was steadily loosing the ability to breathe when he heard it. The tapping was back. It was a moment before his oxygen deprived brain realized that it was his own booted foot swinging against the wall. Then the world went black.  
Snape shot straight up in bed, his bed clothes tangled about him and his body soaked in a cold sweat. His heart was racing and his blood was thick with fear. He realized that he must have had a dream but for the life of him could not remember what he'd dreamt.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
He was standing at his desk in Snape's dungeon classroom stirring a potion once clockwise, twice counterclockwise, once clockwise, twice counterclockwise, adding a strip of torn paper every 45 seconds. He looked down and saw that it was torn from "How to Overcome Your Worst Fears". /Ah/ , he thought to himself, /Oh well!/ and added the last strip of paper. He waited another 30 seconds then carefully dropped in the last ingredient: what looked like a human tongue. His potion was a beautiful shade of red and he knew instinctively that it was perfect. He removed the fire from under to let it cool. That's when he felt the hand on his back rubbing in slow, comforting circles. He leaned back into taking the comfort he so desperately wanted.   
"Your not Harry," the voice behind him sputtered and Neville realized that it was the voice of Draco Malfoy. Neville turned around, a confused and slightly repulsed look on his face to see a mirroring look on Malfoy's.  
"No, but I am." Neville jumped back and spun around facing his potion which is where the voice had came from, only to see an arm reaching out of the thin red liquid. He leapt backward with a low, moaning whimper. Then the hand shot out and wrapped its fingers around Malfoy's throat. Malfoy began pulling at the arm and clawing at it, not in fright but in rage and pain, Neville realized. For some reason he lurched forward to separate them but the hands on his shoulders held him back.  
"It's all right, Neville," Madam Pince, he recognized her voice and the ring she always wore on her right thumb. " They do this all the time. Just let them go." She leaned down, her face just inches from his, but when he looked at her face it changed into that of Professor Snape. And strangely Neville felt no fear. He turned his face toward Neville his eyes crossing a bit as he looked into Neville's eyes that were so close to his.  
"Don't worry, Neville. I'll take it back." And the world went black.  
Neville awoke to the sun shining through a rather large whole he had put in the top of his bed curtains the time he had tripped, throwing an uncapped vial of a rather acidic potion onto them. He'd persuaded Professor McGonagall to let him keep the bed curtains because he loved to wake with the sun on his face. Of course he told her he'd thought it was a fair punishment. He sat up, remembering the events of the night.  
"Hmm, what an odd dream." 


	3. An Offer

Disclaimer: The story is mine but the characters aren't, the books aren't (except the copies I purchased), the merchandise isn't and the motion picture isn't. But if I had 2 billion dollars I might buy it. Tee hee! I did buy the DVD (not the rights just the disk). However, since I live in the US I didn't buy Philosopher's stone. I want to order it but then I think I'd have to buy and area 2 DVD player, gosh everything's such a hassel!  
  
Warnings: None right now. I may up the rating; it may become slash. I don't know/  
  
Rating: Umm, how about PG   
  
/Denotes thought/  
  
  
  
Chapter 3: An Offer  
  
  
Breakfast was exceptionally good that morning and for the first day all week Neville allowed himself to sit back, relax and enjoy it. There would be no quick breakfast then running off to the library for an hour of study before first class because this was Friday morning and that meant that first class was Herbology. Neville was not about to put studying for a class that would put him in a sour or self-loathing mood between a wonderful breakfast and his favorite class, especially not when he had to deal with Potions right after Herbology anyhow.  
Neville finished his bacon leisurely and headed out to the greenhouses. He knew he'd be the first person there but he didn't care. Professor Sprout always let him give her a hand with whatever she was doing at the moment. Everything about Herbology enticed him, the interesting and wonderful plants and their magical uses, the way they looked and smelled. He loved that Herbology was something he could do in complete solitude and harmony, and the plants never jeered him or talked about him behind his back. But what Neville loved most about Herbology was that he was good at it. In fact he was great at it. He could easily nurture and encourage the plants to their fullest potential. When Neville had started out in Herbology in first year he'd been good at it and because he was truly good at something for the first time in his life he was encouraged to become better. Herbology was one of the two things that made Neville feel good, the other being Trevor III, of course.  
Once class actually started time went by in a breeze. Herbology class was a Gryffindor/Hufflepuff class and Neville had no trouble getting along with anyone in that class. When Neville finished taking notes and pruning the three Falla bushes assigned to him, he went around and helped other students who were a bit behind. Class finished long before he wanted it too and he would have stayed longer if he wasn't terrified of being late to Potions class. It wasn't the actual potions themselves that bothered Neville. He'd been studying recently and found that his strong knowledge in Herbology helped him greatly in understanding Potions. Neville had no difficulty in identifying a plant and recalling it's magical abilities and ways that it could be used. He realized that potion ingredients were the same way and had easily memorized the qualities of the most common ones this past week. Neville thought that perhaps there was a chance that he could do well in Potions class. The problem had been that ever since his first class he had been so terrified of Professor Snape that it had affected his Potions work negatively. Since he did so horribly at first, thoughts of that class had caused him distress and given him reason to avoid studying for it which only made him do even poorer and it became a downward spiral from there. Neville picked up his pace and hurried down to the dungeons.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
When Neville arrived in Snape's classroom most of the other students were already in their seats. He quietly slipped down the aisle towards his desk, keeping his eyes on Snape and praying he didn't draw the teacher's attention. Unfortunately, as a result of his cautionary watch of Snape, he missed Malfoy's foot as it stuck out in the aisle just in front of him. There was scattered laughter and whispers as he crashed to the floor, his sack popping open and spilling his Potions text and the two others he had checked out of the Library along with, to Neville's great embarrassment, the copy of "How to Overcome Your Worst Fears", onto the floor in front of him. He scrambled about, quickly trying to scoop all of his books into his sack before he earned himself a detention by not being in his seat when class commenced. However, one of the Potions texts had been slung forward quite a bit and he stretched to reach it. As he was sitting back up he noticed the large black boots just in front of him. He looked up to see Snape staring down at him with his usual scowl, behind which, if Neville had only bothered to look, could be seen a small spark of surprise.  
"Get to your seat, Longbottom," Snape snarled, glaring about the class until all became silent. He stalked to the front of the room and began the lesson. Neville sat next to Hermione, watching him, utterly amazed that he had escaped a detention, and no points were removed, to boot.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Snape finished his lecture and sat down behind his desk to mark papers while the class got on with their potions. He couldn't understand why he had let Longbottom off without at least taking away some points. /Perhaps it is because of that dream you had last night, hmm?/ a little voice in his head whispered. /I didn't dream last night. Oh yes you did, see./ and with that Snape's mind was suddenly filled with the past nights dream. Snape dropped his quill onto the desk and glanced up at Longbottom who was, surprisingly enough, not fumbling so horribly as usual. /It was only a dream/ he harumphed to himself. Nevertheless, he stood and began his tour of the room, glancing over students' potions, surreptitiously making his way toward Longbottom. When he got there he was somewhat surprised and a touch pleased (though he'd never show it) to see that so far Neville had done fairly well. However, his presence didn't go unnoticed by the boy who, he saw, had began to squirm.   
"Sir, I can't work with you right behind me, you make me nervous." Snape was shocked to hear Longbottom address him from over his shoulder. He was so surprised in fact that it took him a moment to come up with a proper retort.  
"Ah, I see Mr. Longbottom, unable to work under pressure, or is it simply difficult for you to copy off Ms. Granger while I'm standing right behind you?"  
"No sir." A quiet, almost defeated whisper wafted up from Neville's general direction.  
/Hmm. Could it actually be that the Gryffindor's apathetic, snot-nosed, slacker is actually trying to learn something. I doubt it; he's probably only trying to impress the Granger girl. Disgusting, it's one thing to completely lack a brain, but it's another to lack use of it./, Snape thought as he resumed his seat.  
After another 20 minutes had passed he made them all put up their left over ingredients and began to verbally quiz them over the potion they had just made.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
/Well/, Neville thought, /that wasn't so bad, and I think I got it all right this time. Perhaps Snape will see that I AM capable of making a potion correctly./  
Snape was asking questions now about how each of the ingredients worked and what powers they produced when mixed with others. This was Neville's least favorite part of the class because he never knew the answer and Hermione who sat right next to him inevitably shot her hand into the air every time Snape asked a question. Sometimes Snape asked him for the answer just to try and prove how little Neville knew. Neville slunk down in his seat trying to hide and praying that Snape wouldn't choose him.  
"Can anyone tell me what powers the Falla root that you used in today's healing potion, possesses, and what other part of the bush is the ONLY other part that possesses magical powers. Hmm, anyone? We will be using this ingredient in one of next weeks potions." What? Neville perked up in his seat. He knew the answer to this question. But already he had more than exceeded his usual amount of audacity in this class. Yet before he knew it he found his hand in the air along with the only other person in the class who obviously knew the answer, Hermione. Well, he wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing, or perhaps 'How to Overcome Your Worst Fears' was actually paying off. Snape looked over at their table, his eyes penetrating right into Neville's and Neville thought for a moment that he might have seen a bit of alarm. But Snape's eyes quickly shifted to Hermione.  
"Ms. Granger, once again." he said with a long suffering tone.   
Neville was shocked beyond belief, though he supposed that he shouldn't have been, for Snape only ever chose Hermione as a VERY last resort. And the one time that Neville had actually raised his hand Snape had looked him over. /Well, there's all the luck./ He thought to himself and quickly slunk back down into his seat, feeling like a fool.  
After Snape had finished with his little question and answer session he toured the room with his grade book marking each student's potion. When he came to Neville's he took a second look.   
"My, my, this almost looks presentable." In fact, it looked perfect. Snape took a sniff at it and found that it smelled perfect to. However, that is when both Neville and Snape noticed that a small bit of the side of the cauldron seemed to be slouching. Their heads tilted in unison to watch the bit of cauldron slide down to the desk, allowing the potion to escape in a small but steady stream. Neville noticed the same beginning to happen to a spot on the other side of the cauldron.  
"Cratera integro", he heard Snape incant and the cauldron repaired itself. "To many Snake fangs, I see. A 'D' and five points from Gryffindor, Longbottom, for trying to melt your cauldron." Snape looked over at Hermione to whom he begrudgingly gave an 'A'. He quickly finished his marking and made his way to the front of the class.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Snape sat down on the chair behind his desk and lifted his quill. "Well," he said, glaring up at the class, "clean up!" He looked back down at his desk, listening to the scuffling sounds of the students racing to clean and replace their cauldrons. /What was that all about,/ he thought to himself, /first I completely ignore the only hand Longbottom has ever raised in this class in favor of that bloody know-it-all, then I give his best efforts all year a 'D' when Finnigan did the same and I gave that lack-brain a 'C'. Humph./ Snape, however, was not a man to question such small judgments for very long and quickly resumed marking first year's essays on Asphodel. He looked up five minutes later and dismissed class watching the students gather their things and quickly file out of class.  
"Longbottom," he surprised himself by calling, "stay for a moment." Neville looked quite frightened yet made his way up toward Snape's desk.   
"Y-yes sir?"  
"I noticed that you actually attempted some sort of effort in class today, Longbottom. Could it have something to do with those Potions texts your keeping in your sack?"  
"I... I've simply been trying to brush up a bit. You know, to catch up with the class."  
"Hmm, well since that's the case, why don't you simply ask Granger to tutor you a bit on your Potions, hmm?"  
"Er, well you see sir, I don't want to bother the others; I don't want them to feel obligated to give up their time er to help me. That is to say Hermione's been spending a lot more time with Ron recently and I don't even know if she would actually help me and, and I-"  
"You don't want to lose the only people who actually allow you to call them friends." Snape interrupted, sounding more like he was talking to himself than anyone else. "I see, Longbottom. Well, since such is the case, if you deem it absolutely necessary, I would be willing to tutor you, on a few conditions of course. One, I will only do it if I am not busy that evening. Two, you must come to the classroom prepared to work and do your absolute BEST not to annoy me. Third, it is every other night and you will come when I say and leave when I believe you to have learned the lesson even if it is one o'clock in the morning. This might give you some initiative to get it right quickly instead of slacking about, understood?"  
"I...I," Neville wasn't sure he could do it. Make potions while Snape is glaring down his back? Oh but he wanted to learn it, to prove himself, so badly. "Yes, thank you sir."  
"Hmmph. Well, why are you still here? Don't you have to be somewhere or something?"  
"Er, yes sir. Thank you, once again." Neville headed out of the dungeons, terrified but excited as well. He'd be catching up with the rest of the class, proving that he wasn't a dunderhead after all. But he'd be spending every other evening in the dungeons with his worst nightmare! He didn't know whether he couldn't wait, or wanted to hide. And what would he tell everyone? 


	4. Blunder of Blunders

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter characters. JK Rowling does. I certainly don't  
own Neville Longbottom or Severus Snape. Severus Snape owns me. Teehee. I don't  
make money from any of my writings, although that would be nice.   
  
A/N: Thank-you to everyone who has reviewed. I apologize for not working on this. I  
backed myself into a corner and have just now found my way out. Also, if you sign in  
when you review (or leave your e-mail address) I'll e-mail you.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Chapter 4:  
  
  
That night after dinner in the Gryffindor common room the complete horror of  
what Neville was about to be subjected to, sunk in to him. True to form Neville  
immediately and completely panicked.  
  
He jumped up out of the chair he had been sitting in while contemplating his day  
and raced toward the portal that led out of the fat lady's portrait, intent on reaching the  
library before curfew. In his hurry he ran smack into a dazed and somewhat flushed  
looking Harry Potter.  
  
"Ouh! Oh, sorry Harry," Neville quickly apologized, brushing past Harry and  
hurrying through the short corridor and down the stairs as fast as his still clumsy legs  
could safely take him. He scarcely caught Harry's muttered, "Yeah...Neville."  
  
Neville skidded through the library doors, winded but made determined by sheer  
terror. He would be spending a full afternoon in the presence of the man whom he had  
spent five years cowering before. What in all the nine bloody hells had he been thinking?  
  
Neville immediately made his way back toward the Potions section of the library  
that he had become so recently well acquainted with. He was soon rounding the corner of  
one of the terribly tall bookshelves and was greeted with a sight that made him turn and  
scamper back behind the shelf which hid him marvelously. Standing five bookshelves  
away in the corner he desperately needed to search through was none other Madam  
Pince...accompanied by Professor Severus Snape.  
  
"I'm certain the book is here somewhere, Professor," he heard Madam Pince state  
in a rather irritated voice. "I could have sworn we purchased it just last year. I know it  
has--"  
  
"If...you have the book, then why, may I ask, am I not able to locate it? If a  
library's patrons are unable to locate particular books because of sheer incompetence in  
placement and utter lack of organization then it totally defeats the point of having a  
blasted library, anyhow."  
  
"Here, here, Severus. I will not have you raising your voice my library. And, I'll  
have you know, there is not a book in this entire library that is out of place."  
  
"I see, then where is the text on theory and application of Alihotsy root in potions  
countering the hysteria brought on by eating the leaves? I don't see it, and yet you claim  
to have it. Perhaps, it is an invisible book and we should try patting about in open  
spaces."  
  
Neville could hear the sneer on Snape's face and would bet anything that Madam  
Pince was moments away from blowing her top and ordering the potions master out of her  
library. He squeezed his eyes shut from the tension and the fear and turned around the  
corner before he had the chance to change his mind.  
  
"Perhaps," he said to the insides of his eye lids, "you should try the Herbology  
section...er...just after THE IMPORTANCE OF HERBS IN POTIONS by Herb Sandmore." Neville  
waited for the berating that was sure to come for interrupting their conversation. It never  
came. In fact, for a moment, the silence was deafening. He slowly opened his eyes to see  
both the librarian and professor standing there looking as though they felt like complete  
idiots. Snape was the first to recover, nearly instantly sneering with a suspicious look in  
his eyes.  
  
"Well, then...Professor...I have things to attend to at the desk." With that  
Neville's last hope of living through the evening vanished to the circulation desk.  
  
"Longbottom." Snape easily made a sentence out of Neville's surname. A  
sentence that sounded as though it must be the most disgusting thing ever uttered in that  
century. "What are you doing down here? No doubt, SPYING on other people's private  
conversations."  
  
"No, er, I was just--"  
  
"Looking for Ms. Granger? Undoubtedly, the object of your disgusting teenage  
longings. Yes, this would be the place, wouldn't it? However, unlike the annoyingly alert  
Ms. Granger you appear to have not noticed that it is a mere five minutes until curfew. I  
doubt you'll be able to make it back to your common room quickly enough. It'll be five  
points from Gryffindor for neglecting the time. Well, get out of my sight, boy."  
  
Neville turned and began hurrying off, filled with despair at not having been able to  
check out the books he would need.  
  
"And Longbottom, my classroom tomorrow, the minute lunch is over. Be glad  
that I'm taking time out of my Saturday for this nonsense." Snape called to him,  
somehow managing to keep his voice at its soft Slytherin tone whilst raising it to a volume  
Neville could hear and hardening it for the boy's benefit.   
  
* * * * *   
  
That night Neville had extreme difficulty sleeping. He could only be thankful that  
it was a Friday night. He was so nervous and frightened at the prospect of spending the  
next day with Snape that his stomach had worked itself into what he was certain would  
soon become an ulcer. He had to retrieve his pillow from the floor twice and get out of  
bed to get a drink of water or relieve himself a total of five times. He worried himself into  
a sweat all through the night and alternated between throwing his blankets to the end of  
the bed and pulling them up and burrowing under them.  
  
He thought of how he would rise as soon as possible and go down to the library to  
study until lunch time. He wondered how he should approach Snape, if he should just  
enter the class room and take his usual seat or if he should go to the very front. He  
thought that he might have to wait on Snape. If so, then where should he wait? He  
wondered what he should bring. Should he bring anything at all? He decided to bring  
everything he had that could be remotely associated with potions and the Potions class. It  
was better, he decided, to be over-prepared than to be under-prepared. Sometime around  
four-thirty in the morning, without realizing it, Neville fell into a wholly exhausted sleep.   
He dreamt of exploding cauldrons and missing textbooks and lunches that were about  
three seconds long. He awoke at eleven-thirty the next morning.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Neville felt incredibly warm and safe bundled in his bedclothes, the warm sun  
pouring in over his chest. He rolled over, intent on enjoying this luxurious peace. But,  
something insisted on nagging at the back of his stomach, spoiling his languor. He sat up  
in bed a content smile still playing at his lips, his body relaxed and calm. He felt the sun  
warming his hair, waking him further. The sun was not supposed to be so bright this early  
in the morning.   
  
He felt his smile melt into his feet as his stomach tried valiantly to shove itself up  
into his chest. He flipped over the bed, searching his night-table for the clock, knocking  
over the item he sought in the process. After recovering the clock from the floor and  
learning that it was now eleven-thirty-four, he jumped out of bed, racing into his clothes  
and shoes as quickly as he could, before barreling toward the library. The library was  
closed everyday from noon until one o'clock in the afternoon, while Madam Pince had her  
lunch break.   
  
After arriving at the library he had just enough time to rush over to the potions  
section and grab as many books as his arms could hold before quickly walking to the  
circulation desk and checking them out, moments before Madam Pince left for her lunch.   
Neville, regardless having eaten little dinner the night before and no breakfast that  
morning, would just have to do without lunch as well. He sat down on the floor just  
outside the library and leaning against the wall tried to absorb any information he could  
remember having gone over in class. Unfortunately, because of his hurry the assortment  
he had grabbed had ended up containing little information that he could find to be useful  
to him. However, he scoured through everything as quickly as he could, but because of  
the vastness covered in the books and the swiftness with which he had to read because of  
his time constraints he was able to absorb very little. He was certain that everything he  
garnered would leave his head the moment he walked into the potions classroom.   
Because Snape was focused on him solely he would know for certain how little Neville  
actually knew. Neville desperately fought the desire to curl up in a little ball and either die  
or cry himself to sleep.  
  
Neville soon realized that lunch must have just let out. He could see a few firsties  
walking down the hall toward him. He neatly stacked the useless potions texts next to the  
library door and they were magicked into the drop crate inside the library. It was then that  
Neville realized that in his hurry he had left all of his things up in the dormitory. It was a  
good ten minutes away and it was nearly that to Snape's dungeon classroom. There was  
no way he would have time to both get his things and have the audacity to show his face in  
Snape's dungeon.  
  
With the resignation of a man destined to execution he tried to will himself to  
hurry down to the Potions room. He was still a good ten minutes late, he knew.   
Nevertheless, he could not stand Snape up and so he pushed the door open and entered,  
aware of his imminent doom.  
  
"Longbottom, your late. Five points from Gryffindor. Take your cauldron from  
the back of the room and take a seat at the front of the classroom. Now, take out your  
Potions text and open it to page eleven. We will try a very simple potion to see if we can  
figure the level of your incompetence."  
  
Neville went to the back of the room where the cauldrons were stored and hunted  
his out. So relieved was he that he had escaped with a mere five points taken and his head  
still attached that it wasn't until he was back at the front setting up his cauldron that he  
realized he didn't have his text. Shit. He wondered what he should tell Snape, he  
couldn't very well hide the fact that he was without his book. He decided that no matter  
what he told Snape, the man would never believe him anyhow, so he went for the truth.  
  
"Er, professor? I, em, was in the li...library this morning and lost-track-of-time. I  
wasn't able to go back up to the dorm...to get my potions book." The entire time he  
stared at his toes and delivered the last bit with all the despair that consumed him.  
  
"Indeed. Well, I see we needn't brew anything to gauge the level of your  
incompetence. In that case, Longbottom, stay right here, and perhaps you shouldn't touch  
anything. I'll just get a spare FIRST YEAR text I keep in my office, shall I?"  
  
Neville closed his eyes, his cheeks flaming. Secretly he thought that maybe it was  
better that way, to just start all over.  
  
* *  
  
Snape entered his office and went immediately to the shelf where he kept the texts  
he was currently working out of. He grabbed the first year text knowing exactly the  
potion he wanted Longbottom to brew and deciding that before he allowed the boy to  
even try he would give a short quiz to see if the apathetic prat remembered anything about  
the ingredients he would need.  
  
'Why do I even bother,' he wondered to himself, 'when I know he doesn't even  
care. He hasn't shown a bit of progress in the last three years. I know he didn't get an  
owl and that was not for lack of Granger's tutoring. Some twisted attempt at impressing  
her is likely the only reason he showed up here today anyhow. I swear the apathetic grow  
exponentially every year! If our world isn't run by idiots now, it will be soon.'  
  
He entered the class room and made his way toward his desk at the front.  
  
"Longbottom, before I hand this text over to you I want you to get out a piece of  
parchment and a quill; we're going to have a little quiz." At the look he saw on the boy's  
face he knew instantly that it was no good.  
  
"I see. Forget EVERYTHING did we. Well, nearly everything, it appears you  
managed to get dressed this morning Longbottom. Good for you. Ten more points from  
Gryffindor." Snape said as he reached around his desk for a piece of parchment and an  
old quill and ink-well. Glaring down at the boy, he placed the supplies on the student's  
desk. He appeared to be trembling under the force of Snape's glare.  
  
'Perhaps he'll be frightened into actually absorbing something.' Snape leaned  
down to make sure.  
  
"If you come to this classroom, expecting the privilege of my personal time and  
tutoring, one more time, unprepared, you will not come to this classroom, again. EVER.   
Do I make myself clear Mr. Longbottom?"  
  
"Y..Yes, sir."  
  
"Good. Now, I am going to ask you a question and you are to write the answer  
down on the parchment. Do you follow?" He asked sarcastically. Neville's lips pursed  
and he nodded slightly looking down at the parchment.  
  
"Even if you don't know the answer, make an attempt. First, question: What are  
the magical properties and uses of Dindume root?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
That night, lying in bed, Neville went over the whole hideous afternoon in his  
mind. He had managed to get a sum total of three of the twenty questions that Snape  
asked him, correct. It wasn't that he didn't know the answer it was just that every scrap  
of knowledge he owned seemed to scamper away at the bare mention of Snape.   
  
Snape had stood over him the entire time he had tried to make the potion, causing  
Neville to be a complete wreck. Snape had kept leaning over and telling Neville to think  
about what the ingredient he was placing in the cauldron would be reacting with. Twice  
Neville had had to start over, once because his cauldron had begun to melt. He had never  
quite got the potion correct and Snape had sent him away to dinner, both completely  
frazzled.  
  
Tomorrow was Sunday and Neville planned on spending it in the library. He rolled  
over and tried to go to sleep, but because of terrible stomach pains he didn't manage until  
nearly one o'clock in the morning. 


End file.
